I have been asked by my friend
to provide him some sensuous poetry.
What makes a poem sensuous?
It must have a sexy woman,
buxom, pitcher bottom,
eyes like a doe,
but they must flash
full-throttled on you,
or petite askance look,
inviting,
come join in my game.
She just winds her ways
away from the sun-bathing
lissom lasses,
sends macho men prowling.
Your bete noir just winds her way
past the drink stand,
down the winding corridor,
to some alcove first,
have a drink,
calling you with flat four fingers,
past the flower stands,
past the waiters,
busy in providing services to the rooms,
vodka, gin, tall glasses of cocktails.
Finally, you are led into a room,
an inviting spotless white bed,
a wine stand and refrigerator for ice-cubes.
She just takes off her shoes,
asks you to fix a drink,
takes off her bodice,
looks at you,
and slowly takes off the panty.
And there standing before you
that ample-bodied proportionate lady
asks for her cocktail,
and garlands you
in embrace,
moist, soft body
pressing your whole length and breadth.
You feel desperate
at the loins
and can't decide
should you bed her
or allow her to bed you?
You perspire.
Suddenly you imagine your architect wife
in another city,
with her client
may be in the same act
to clinch the project
that has the lure to make her a billionaire
if she plays all the ball games correctly.
Will he, or shall he not?
He cannot decide.
But already the ample-bodied proportionate lady
has got hold of him,
undressed him
and pulled him to the bed.
Let us ...
No inhibitions please.
He is already in her.
He evalutes the pleasure with his wife
and this lady looking for a little bit of intimacy
and pleasure, reason unknown.
But surely, how does it matter?
Two adults must prove their worth.
Bodies never contaminate.
They just take measure of each other.
Lovemaking is legitimate,
isn't it ?! |
|
